Voulez Vous Coucher Avec Moi, Darling?
by newbluemoon
Summary: Written for the kink meme. Eames discovers he has a language kink. Arthur uses this to his advantage. NSFW guys. Warnings: Buttsex and abuse of the French language. Disclaimer- Not mine. Not now, now ever. Laaame. Reviews are beautiful things.


**Spoilers:** Hmm, not so many, but I don't recommend reading if you haven't watched the beauty that is Inception.  
**Warnings:** Sexsexsex. Abuse of the French language  
**Disclaimer:** Nolan seems to rain supreme over all of my otps. First Nolanverse Batman/Joker and now these guys. God dammit Nolan! Learn to share!  
**Summary: **Written for a prompt over at inception_kink; "_Eames gets turned on by Arthur's ability to speak fluent French._" Yes you read that right. Language kink fic ahoy!_  
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Eames was absolutely not the kind of guy to ever be found in a state of surprise. Ruffling his feathers, catching him of guard, was supposed to be a ridiculous notion. One that would make the most brilliantly adept man look a fool. He wasn't a point man, of course, not by any means, but he had that kind of ability to sink himself completely into the embrace of all the toasty sensations around him, picking up on every last quality of any given environment as soon as he entered the area. And when things shifted, he ebbed along with them. It was effortless. Natural. And no-one really tried warping things with the mission of shocking Eames on their minds. There had been attempts, of course, but they always finished with the proverbial pie dripping down the attempted trickster's face while a giddily smug Eames laughed to himself in self assured incredulity. Even in the dreamscape, faux realities could be moulded to the point where the average man wouldn't even think to check their totem because it would be so obviously crisp. Clearly _real. _And when a ripples bites into that notion and claws it apart with ruthless abandon, they'd be surprised. That cold grip of _what the hell _rooting deep in their throbbing veins. Even after learning to expect the unexpected and all those clichés. But not Eames.

Eames, was untouchable.

And he'd lived with these solidified notions of himself his entire life, right out of his nappies he took to the world with startling finesse and he had no plans to shed this skin. But, he never counted on gorgeous, straight laced, tight-lipped Arthur stabbing his way into his chaotic perfection. Ah, Arthur. Cute-as-a-button, darling, darling Arthur with his adorable scowling face and tight fitting, clean cut suits, perfect hair and perfect everything. Just screaming for Eames to come in a shake him up a little. And he did. Of course. The forger quickly developed a taste for winding up his pretty little sometimes-team mate, flirting with him with outrageous, cutting obviousness, though Eames was never one for subtlety. It had taken a while, but he was a patient man, and feeling Arthur unravel under his fingers with a butter caress was the sweetest arsenic of a reward he could've hoped for. He made the man _scream _for him. Writhe around, buck up to meet him, drenching the sheets in sweat and god knows what else, lost to reality (or the dream they might be inhabiting at the time), the mirage of undiluted level-headedness he tried to hard to project to the masses evaporated. It made Eames feel powerful. Like he had the strings wrapped securely around his fingers. Like this was in his control.

He didn't realise Arthur was a razor blade under his flesh, latent venom in his blood. Didn't know he had become just as snared, tangled. Just as vulnerable.

But he found himself in a bar, accompanied by his favourite point man, a handful of miles outside of Paris, the distant vicious buzz of the last mission still ringing in his ears, mixing with the background murmur of the quite bar, laced in the hum of the far away city. The air was rich with countryside clarity, fresh and green, reminding him of his childhood expeditions in the Cotswolds, but peppered in that way only France could be, spiced just enough to tell him the pulsating core of the night time had settled in. He had already unconsciously catalogued the people in the room and knew the exits and how to get to them, should he need to. It was habit. After all, conmen tended to need to know quick routes of escape. You know. Just in case. He felt settled, relaxed and completely at ease, the light smile written with calm ink fully imprinted onto his cheeks. And then-

"Excusez-moi, savez-vous où nous pouvons trouver un hôtel près ici?" Eames' head snapped up, his mouth falling open a breath, everything outside of those words dissolving into nothing. They were spoken from an impeccable set of maddeningly soft lips, the velvet tone curling through the air, ghosting over his ear drums, sending sparks igniting like crumbling worlds through his body. The soft, husky texture of his words, slicing with precision into vibrating skin, tickling his insides, lashing him in arousal before he even knew what was happening. His eyes stapled themselves to Arthur's mouth, wide and diluted as he watched those curved lips shape over the words stringing out of his throat like ribbons. Arthur was speaking to a blonde waitress over the oak bar, his eyes fiercely sharp as they always were, contrasting harshly against the cotton of his speech. Eames felt his mouth dry out a little, swallowing convulsively against his sudden parched state. The waitress slid her flimsy grey eyes up Arthur's body, a cool smirk slotting onto her face as she took in the sight of the handsome man in front of her. It didn't irk himself nor Arthur, the younger of the two's unflappable demeanour staying strong even his own was on shaky waters.

"Voulez-vous un lit une place ou..?" the waitress asked, flirtation riddled throughout the words she exhaled, her stare unthreading Arthur's clothing as she gazed over at him. It was completely unfascinating. And Eames shot his eyes straight back to his lover, every hair on his body standing to attention in bubbling anxiousness, waiting to hear those chafing words, his tongue gliding along dry lips.

"Non, une chambre assez grande pour lui et moi serait préférable." Eames bit back a groan, miserably suffering under the stark warmth of the delicious stream of sounds lapping at his ignited senses. Arthur's mouth blanketed every last syllable in a honeyed lull, the way he pursed his lips, kissing every syllable in tempting languidness. It sang out to Eames, encasing him in sweltering heat as he merely watched a rounded Adam's apple bob up and down under the vibrations of the tantalising words, wanting nothing more than to run his own tongue over it. The way Arthur spoke was a silken porno to his ears, and he felt the blazing of fledgling titillation fizzling in a pool deep within his stomach. His nails dug into the flesh under his palms as he battled himself to prevent desperate noises barging their way out his throat. He wanted out of here, wanted to make those smooth cheeks flush as that mouth parted to let out more French phrases, dripping in filthy, dirty lust.

His internal wars went unnoticed to the American who was busy enduring the ongoing flirtations of the blonde. He felt the woman's eyes on him, her body language an amalgamation of amused and annoyed, and he wanted her gone. This second. This required privacy. Not that he himself would voice any objections to public sex, but he had a feeling his bilingual bedfellow may have something to say about it. But the consuming want fiddling in his pulse forced him to choke on "piss off."

"Est-il votre amant?" she enquired, a barely-disguised tease drowning her question, a slight sneer replacing the smirk. Arthur's face contorted into a glare this side of smouldering, placing the empty glass he was cradling down on the bar with a little too much aggression, alerting Eames to the fact this woman must've said something to piss him off. He could speak French quite fairly, but he hadn't been focusing on her when she spoke, his gaze was firmly locked onto Arthur.

"Ce n'est pas important. Connnaissez-vous un hôtel local ou non?" This time, the tone was spiked with an irritation the conman was more than used to hearing himself, and yet it was still like golden ambrosia licking like the tide at his violently aroused condition , feeling the uncompromising satin soft stroking of the words hover all over his body, encapsulating him in their warmth. The way Arthur's tongue darted out to roll around the words, his accent perfect, taking his time. Like he was tasting the words. Oh god, it was getting unbearable. Eames felt his face redden, faintly hearing the waitress' mumbled reply, but concentrating solely on not pouncing the lithe, french-speaking cock tease next to him. His muscles were quivering under the strain. Who knew a bloody _language _could have him transformed without effort into some pliant, wobbling mess of a man, _aching _for contact with the speaker.

He watched as the point man turned his head to address him, a set of exquisite brows arching in a silent question directed at him. He knew he must look like some wild creature, charcoal eyes and cherries flesh as well as the large tent in his pants exposing the extent of his..._problem._

_"_She said there's a hotel down the stre- Eames, are you okay?" Arthur inquired, his voice back to normal, though Eames couldn't get the sound of that accent out of his brain. Couldn't stop imagining a series of debauched fantasies he could play out while listening to that caramel voice. He was biting into his bottom lip, eyes heavy, ready to attack.

Standing up abruptly, he bit out a strained "let's go", bolting out the door as if an army of projections were in hot pursuit of him. The bite of the stinging night air was like a bucket of iced water over his boiling skin, soothing against the sticky pours, but doing nothing to quell the volcano that still raged inside him. He leant against a vined wall at the side of the bar, catching his breath, diligently ignoring the insistent throbbing in between his legs.

"Eames, what the hell?" an exasperated voice came from behind him. The Brit felt his defences shrivel, his blood ringing in his ears, cock pounding in his trousers and then he was grabbing Arthur, shoving him into the wall, attacking him with a clumsy mouth, needing to devour the source of that fucking voice. Arthur let out a startled squeak, very unbecoming for a composed man such as himself, but was soon clutching at the back of Eames' head, running long, nimble fingers through the dark hair he found there. The forger rocked his hips into the younger man's crotch, wanting him to _feel _what he'd done to him, his hands reaching down to grab pert, round cheeks, forcing the American closer into his body. His tongue licked brutally inside the lips of his co-worker, almost as though he was looking for a lingering taste of those sugared foreign words.

After a few long, blistering minutes, he pulled back panting, his cobalt eyes burning into the dark brown ones of his lover. His chest was heaving, fighting all the urges to just throw the smaller man down and make him fucking scream in French. Instead he leant in, mouth next to a very confused Arthur's ear.  
"Darling" he hissed, "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" An eager tongue flicked out without permission, massaging the area just below the curve of his lover's earlobe. Arthur shuddered, a low moan rumbling in his throat.  
"What are you talking about?" he groaned, tilting his neck sideways as Eames' tenacious mouth ventured lower, mouthing at the skin. Rough hands trailed down the thin body, unabashedly groping at the hardening erection he found in between sturdy legs, evoking a strangled moan and a thrilled sense of fear from the younger man at such an intimate action out in the open.  
"Saying those things" Eames murmured, biting the skin over a throbbing jugular "in that goddamn accent. You must've known"

Arthur pulled back, his face stormy with confusion before a blackened, predatory grin doused his face, that single look almost as erotic as the same man speaking with an alien tongue. The American brushed his lips over Eames', short and chaste before smoothing down the collars of the older man's woollen jacket and smirking like he had a secret he was not prepared to tell.

"Well then," he purred over Eames' parted lips, "suivez-moi, mon chéri." And with that he pivoted on his feet, gracefully striding away in the direction of the hotel. Eames let go of a licentious moan before his expression bled into an impious grin and he trotted after the alluring man strolling away from him. _Game on!_

x x x

Twenty minutes later Eames was lay on his back, arched in a perfect bow, mouth agape and chest pounding as Arthur mercilessly thrust into him. He seemed to be everywhere, consuming him in his entirety, his mouth on Eames' neck, tongue savouring the thudding of his blood, his cock moving hard inside him, meeting with his prostate every single fucking time. The forger felt the blinding heat in his veins burn through his entire form, his hands buried in Arthur's now dishevelled dark hair, tugging him down to him. He bucked his body up as hard as he could, his hips moving automatically, desperate to suck out more pleasure from the finely sculpted body above him. The sounds of their flesh slapping together drove on his own grunts of uncontainable ecstasy, the drumming of his heartbeat ringing in his ears as the younger man's teeth bit into his neck, savage and wanting. It had taken a long time to draw this side out of Arthur. The bestial, reckless thing above him was a far cry away from the calm, reserved point man Cobb and the rest of them knew. If they saw him now, they'd no doubt recoil in shock, not able to recognise this beast as mild, lovely _Arthur. _But Eames was spread out, wanton, flushed and ready to accept anything this man had to give him, positively adoring this side of his most favourite pet.

"Aimes-tu sentir ma queue dans ton cul, mon coeur?"Arthur gasped against Eames' neck, revelling in the fact he had found a new button to press on the older man. Something to use in his arsenal against him- nothing compared to Eames' supply of ammo he inflicted upon the point man, of course, but it was a start.

"Mon Dieu, tu es si étroit" He would never normally voice such vulgar thoughts, but the way Eames reacted, squirming and thrashing about beneath him, whimpering when he spoke with a French tongue, it made Arthur's blood hammer and rage with an eclectic range of emotions. It made the very idea of not being here, not doing this, psychologically encumbering and physically sickening. He _needed _to see Eames come undone. Just like Eames had shredded his façade of composure time after time after goddamn time.

The Englishman groaned high pitched and needy, his cock brushing against Arthur's taut stomach with each long, insistent flick of deft hips into his heat, leaving a wet trail just bellow his belly button. And the vibrating sensation of that fucking _French _hitting into his skin with demonic insistence had him hurtling towards a crippled Nirvana but he just couldn't come. He needed Arthur's hand on him, needed that knowing touch. Needed that completion.

"_Fuck,_ Arthur" he panted, dragging his nails down the younger man's curved back, lapping up the resultant hiss.  
"Oui, mon petit choufleur?" came the inevitable, teasing response and _fuck, _since when was he the one on the receiving end of evil, evil taunts at very inappropriate times. But the husky sounds of those francophone words positively_ oozing _sex at this point had him far beyond caring. He just needed to bloody well get on with it.

"Touch me, you teasing little shit" he breathed unable to force his typical light hearted humour or even a threat into the tone as Arthur's thick, throbbing dick ploughed into his ass without pause, without relenting. Filling him up completely. And it was like he couldn't breathe for air, his eyes rolling backwards in his head, his arousal brutally pounding and he could think of nothing else but coming. He'd never wanted a, ah, _little death _so much in his entire life.

A low chuckle racked Arthur's chest, his face still buried in the crook of Eames' neck, trying to hold his control as the tight muscles around him contracted and squeezed every time he hit the right spot, which was quite often apparently. He swallowed down hard, soaking up Eames in this needy state. Driven half mad by a few colloquial phrases, foaming and raving around like a, what the older man would call, complete nutter. He pressed his lips onto the glistening flesh one last time before pushing his body up, earning a wail of pleasure as he changed his position, kneeling with ample room to touch Eames where he needed to be touched.

"Well since you asked so nicely," he smirked, wrapped a deft hand around an angry, pulsating cock, causing Eames to slam his head back against the dampened pillow with a cacophonous howl, instantly thrusting up into Arthur's palm as he continued to plunge into the searing heat of the older man's ass. The smaller man was fisting the organ with hurried, hard strokes, too far gone himself to prolong things any further, forcing his own cock into that tight channel with rabid urgency, an ardent haze wrapping his mind in glass-shard bliss. The larger man tangled his fingers in Arthur's sweat dampened hair, yanking him down to meet him in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, panting and wheezing filling the air as the two free fell towards orgasm.

Eames let out a litany of curses as Arthur palmed his balls with his spare hands, urging him onwards as his other hand squeezed the forger's rigid, wet cock, thumb circling the head, twisting and pressing like he knew exactly where to touch, which he of course did. It was too fucking much. His senses liquefied as red grainy noise filled his head, feeling nothing besides the younger man's skin on his, their unhinged souls connecting in the lewd air.

"C'mon Eames" he heard the gravelled voice whisper through the clamour in his mind. A tongue slid across his neck, malicious and feverish, pausing to allow a heavy whine to escape cherry lips. They locked eyes.

"Viens pour moi."

And with that, he was propelled forward, sinking into utter carnal bliss, hands gripping into Arthur's ass, the other man's fist stroking his dick through his astonishingly strong orgasm as he came hard, spilling over onto his own stomach, clamping down on the cock still thrusting inside him. He couldn't tell if the noises were his own or Arthur's at this point, but he was past caring. Spasms split him open like scalpels as his body sailed through the after shocks of his climax, pleasure sending brutal beams around him and Eames wasn't one for clichés but fireworks would be appropriate right now. He was still convulsing helplessly when he heard a weak expletive and then Arthur was spilling into him, rope after rope coupled with a moan so deep Eames though he could come again, but instead settled for humming in appreciation at the liquid warmth now coating his insides, tensing his muscles to prolong this fucking _god__send's _orgasm.

And when the American was finally spent, he collapsed on top of Eames, not bothering to withdraw from him, just smiling dumbly into his neck. The conman twirled his fingers in the now completely ruined hairdo, wondering how long it will be this time before the prissy little fellow has to run off to fix it.

After a few moments of slowing heartbeats and frantic breathing, Arthur pulled out and dropped down next to Eames, folding an arm over the man's waist, luxuriating in the warm afterglow of his climax, still half-smug about discovering this new little game. He turned to face Eames.

"So...a _language _kink?" he remarked, face melting into a rare grin of genuine amusement. Eames met his smile with a larger one, of course, and chuckled quietly, shaking his head.  
"It would appear so, my dear" he laughed, patting Arthur's knee fondly. The point man, still lost to euphoria, smirked and began to let the clutches of slumber cradle him when he caught a glimpse of a mischievous look on Eames' face. Before he could open his mouth to ask what the hell he was up to now, he found himself straddled by a very ravenous looking Englishman, smiling down at him with abstract lust printed on his features. The words that tumbled out from that devilish mouth had the impossible twitches of renewed arousal flooding his pubic region which was now in grave danger of being fondled. Eames however, showed no signs of letting this slide, his mouth hovering directly above Arthur's.

"So, darling" he purred, "How's your Italian?"

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**A/N Okay so that was my first Inception fic. I fucking love this fandom. I now co-mod at inceptionlulz too, which is really awesome and you guys should definitely check that noise out. My French? Is _terrible_, so if you spot any errors, forgive them and/or let me know. Actually if you catch any errors at all, I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know. My brain is failing today. **

**To any readers of _Intervals_ that might be reading this, I'm not getting my laptop back for _ages _so I've decided to write chapter 10 out again. I'm trying to keep it as close to the original as I can but meh. We'll see. Anyway, you'll have a healthy dosage of Batman/Joker porn coming your way sometime during the next few days. (I'm about 5000 words in so far) So keep an eye out for that!  
**

**But yeah, thanks for reading this guys and any thoughts are more than welcome, so please let me know what you think! And yay you for supporting Inception. My brother told me today he hated it. -_- I don't even know.**


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